


Forhekset

by klaviergavout



Category: Trolle og den Magiske Fela - Alexander Rybak
Genre: Gen, wrote this aaaaaages ago and felt like re-posting it after reading the book again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:45:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15737025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klaviergavout/pseuds/klaviergavout
Summary: Deep in a marsh lies an enchanted violin. No one's played it for hundreds, thousands of years even. Until now.(My own take on what happens when Trolle finds the violin.)





	Forhekset

**Author's Note:**

> So, context. I wrote this a long time ago, way before I'd even bought and read the book. I based it around the first song in the soundtrack, Den Magiske Fela, and went from there. I posted this story on here- then chickened out and deleted it, because I thought, 'No one's gonna read this! There's not even a fandom!'
> 
> But I'm still proud with what I did with this one, so I fixed it up, and here it is! Again. If you read this I really recommend you listen to the song along with it. You'll get way more out of it, trust me.
> 
> Look out for more Trolle stories because who knows, I might write some more.

The violin was beautiful. It lay on the mossy grey rock, golden and glorious, a beacon of light in the dreary dampness of the forest. Even in that world of trolls and spirits and elven folk, its mere presence outshone all the mysterious creatures of the trees, and then some. Lingering in the clearing around it was a slight mist that wet the plants with small drops of dew but left its smooth surface untouched, and the strong circle of trees surrounding the clearing acted as a barrier between the outside world and this violin of legend. No rabbit nor squirrel would dare race past and break the reverent silence with a patter of tiny feet; small birds flying overhead would take care not to make any noise and subsequently be the first to do the same.

The woodland creatures knew to stay far, far away from the violin, and to respect its peaceful slumber upon the boulder on which it lay. But even so there soon came the inevitable interruption- a scuffle of feet, deep, laboured breaths, the crunching of leaves from the forest floor- and suddenly there in the jurisdiction of the mystical violin was a troll and he was staring up at the violin as if there were nothing more wonderful in the entirety of the world.

Trolle had entered the clearing on all fours, and still in that position he remained, dry hands clutching at the humid earth. A large mop of deep reddish-brown hair surrounded his face, framing various bruises and scars. His arms and legs, too, were covered in wounds. Encircling a hazel eye was a large black ring, which he moved his fingers up to and gently touched, wincing from the pain. As he did so, a few lingering tears dripped down his cheeks and onto the dirt below. It had been a very unpleasant morning, to say the least.

At last Trolle lifted himself onto two feet, and slowly walked towards the violin on the rock. He reached out to grab it, but his fingers slowed before he could pick it up- thoughts were running through his mind, dialogue replaying in his head, the taunts and jeers of the other trolls resounding in his head like the beat of a haunting metronome.

When he eventually took the violin from the boulder it was with a conviction he never knew he had, and when he held it to his chin and drew the bow it was with emotions he never knew he could muster. Just as he had done time and time before with violins of his own, he began to play, his face determined. This time, he'd show them up, all of them.

A slow, lachrymose melody pierced the forest air, and at its sudden sharpness a few birds resting in the treetops flew away, having been awoken suddenly by what he was playing. The golden violin felt comfortable and familiar against his chin and the music, his music, sounded wonderful. As he continued to play, he felt himself grow happier and calmer; as he continued to play, warm sunbeams shone out from behind the clouds above and into the clearing, giving it a warm carpet of amber light.

This was unusual for the forest, and Trolle noticed this, nostrils flaring as he took in the new warmth and smelt the scents of his home. He paused his playing for a moment with an air of serenity- then, with a wry smile, began to play a lighter tune, tapping his foot to the rhythm. Things seemed to morph around him as he played; it became sunnier and bright, the temperature rose, nature began to thrive again. He could hear creatures scuttle through the bushes and tiny tapping feet amongst him.

This only spurred him on to play louder, faster, hopping from foot to foot almost, turning and twirling through the forest air. He began to grin, chest puffed out in subconscious pride, indulging in his happiness. In his glee he did not notice the one, then two, then five, then ten heads peek out from behind the trees that surrounded the clearing, eyes wide as saucers, long ears twitching at the magical noise.

The trolls were enthralled. Never had they heard music like this; never had they been so enchanted by any sound before in their short and carefree lives. These were the same people who had given Trolle his bruises and scars, yet with this golden violin they felt a connection, felt that they were drawn to it by some invisible hold; and for once, they were right. As the violin's curse fell upon them, they moved into the middle of the clearing, closer and closer, until they completely surrounded Trolle.

He stopped abruptly to look around the circle of trolls that were sat in the clearing, and immediately recognised them all by name. He might've been worried, terrified even, if surrounded by them in any other place- but for once, the trolls were genuinely smiling at him, and he knew he had to prove himself now or never at all.

Once the last triumphant note had been drawn from the hexed violin, Trolle beamed, blinking back tears of happiness. At last, he had been accepted by the other trolls. He couldn't believe his luck.

With new-found pride he turned to put the violin back where it belonged, but he couldn't seem to let it go. Something was compelling him not to leave it behind- though he didn't know what. Trolle clutched the violin tighter in his hands, walked peacefully through the clearing and out of sight.

The trolls followed him in perfect unison.


End file.
